The grass will never be more beautiful than it is today. The trees are minimally dressed. The more voluptuous spring flowers wait for warmer days, and apart from the forsythia there are only prim, retiring blossoms in my landscape, to be appreciated in dainty ones and twos.
But the grass is a single sweep of potent green, a trumpet blast of color. Blue sky and green grass create a simple, horizontal composition that surprises me with its forcefulness. During the winter I think of spring as light green leaves and a rainbow of flowers. I forget that first comes this fulfillment of green and blue.